


In the Bleak Midwinter, a Stable Place Sufficed

by hederahelix



Category: Princess Series - Jim C. Hines
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hederahelix/pseuds/hederahelix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a midwinter ball, after returning from the attempt to deal with Lirea, Snow realizes some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Bleak Midwinter, a Stable Place Sufficed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydriotaphia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydriotaphia/gifts).



Talia was watching. This fact, Snow mused, was nothing new since most of the time what Talia did was watch. Talia watched for assassins, for poisons, for dark magic, for fairy incursions, and pretty much for anything else that would threaten those people Talia considered hers to protect.

Tonight, amid the finery of the lavish midwinter ball, Talia had plenty of avenues to be concerned about. Even Talia, with her preternatural senses and overdeveloped sense of responsibility could not have eyes everywhere in a crowd this size. To make matters worse, everyone was deep into their cups. Well, not everyone, Snow thought, looking at the Hiladi ambassador. She figured that was only fair. After all, the war she, Danielle, and Talia had narrowly avoided with that empire was one of the more recent ones. If even the Hiladi ambassador was here, it was pretty clear that place was packed. In truth, the halls of the palace were crowded with nobles and visiting dignitaries from many lands. Every servant in the castle seemed to be here too, along with the servants that visitors brought.

She glanced at the walls and wondered how many creatures Danielle had invited. Even the four-footed were well represented here tonight.

It was a night that would either drive Talia made or make her thrill with the challenge of trying to keep up with it all.

But amid it all, Snow realized, the one person in the teeming masses whom Talia was not watching was Snow.

Now that it had been pointed out to her, it was obvious. So obvious Snow wasn't quite sure how she'd missed it in the first place. But there she'd been in the middle of another life or death battle when the proof had practically hit her in the face: Talia seldom met Snow's eyes for long.

Frankly, Snow wasn't quite sure how she'd missed something so apparent except . . .

Snow plucked a stray bit of pastry crust from where it had landed on the deep blue velvet of her gown and tried to draw her attention back to the present, but it was hard. The halls were lit only by candlelight—real flame, not magic. Magic may not have been as revered or common in Lorindar as it had been in Snow's home, but few could really deny the power of midwinter's night. Something in the deep reaches of their minds called for light, heat, and flame. No mere magecraft would do when the halls could be decked with the flickering, warm glow of candles fastened onto every surface that could hold them. The air was heavy with the perfumes of the assembled people in their holiday finery, and the scents from the feast still hung in the air. It was intoxicating before incense and magic got into the mix, to say nothing of the wine.

Trying to clear her head, Snow closed her eyes and breathed in an attempt to steady her emotions. Lately, she had found it so much harder to concentrate. At first, she blamed the head injury she was still recovering from. As it turned out, being thrown into a stone wall by air spirits was not compatible with magic. Who knew? Months later, it was still the case that each time she was alone in a relatively quiet place, her mind began swirling. It had been happening more and more frequently these days, and her latest visit to a healer had convinced her that such effects were not the result of the injury to her head she'd sustained in their attempts to find Lirea and avert yet another war.

A sudden movement by Talia, clad in servant's clothes, drew her attention outside herself briefly before she lost track of the drab brown outfit in the crush of people. She'd seen just enough to know that Talia was still on high alert. That was enough to remind her that a watchful Talia had become such a part of Snow's existence here in Lorindar that some days, Snow had almost forgotten that it had been Talia who had come to the kingdom later than Snow had.

These days it was nearly impossible to see even traces of that terrified, starving girl lost among the cloud silks that Beatrice and Snow had gone to the docks to catch in the wary warrior who disguised herself in ways that lulled so many trained fighters to miss the threat hiding in plain sight before them that Talia so often was. Instead, for perhaps too long all Snow could see was the skilled, if annoyingly overworried, battle-hardened spy who could single-handedly overthrow a small kingdom if she so chose.

But now that Snow reminded herself of the details, she could just remember how it had been Talia's glare radiating from just behind Queen Beatrice the time that the assassin from Morova had made it past the palace guards. During the first mission Snow had been sent on as a royal spy, within the first day, Snow had found herself thrust unceremoniously to the ground when it had been Talia and not one of Snow's own mirrors that had spotted the troll.

Due to the fairies'—Snow searched for the right word, knowing how Talia felt about the fae meddling with her skills, so the word gifts simply wouldn't do. Not gifts. No matter what benefits, gifts was the wrong word. A gift was something freely given without hope of return. A true gift was not about scheming for some sort of profit. A gift ought to be given out of love rather than manipulation, and on that, Snow agreed with Talia.

Influence.

What the fairies had sought was what a skilled courtier sought: infuence. Snow allowed her procession of thoughts to carry on. Due to the fairies' influence and Talia's past, Snow had quickly learned that her fellow spy did not sleep. At first, Snow's mind had gone no further than that. Having a partner on dangerous missions who did not sleep meant more sleep for Snow. It had taken a while before she began to question what that might mean. Nearly every mission they'd been sent on by Queen Beatrice had been marked by night watches that Snow had never had to keep. Snow was fine with that; she enjoyed her sleep, no matter how often Talia made snide comments that suggested otherwise.

Lately, Snow had begun to wonder for just how long there had been more than casual joking behind those barbs. The fact that she'd grown accustomed to having Talia keep watch over her sleep was as old as the fashion that noble from Lyskar was wearing.

And at a Yule Ball, no less! The harvest this year had been bad all over, but Snow didn't think it was that much to ask to spruce up an old gown with some new accessories. The Lady Octavia had done wonders with a bit of new silk and some lovely trim that made the old gown look practically new.

Snow rolled her eyes, shook her head, and went back to her reverie.

Talia, Snow noted as she took in the other woman's disguise, did not follow the fashions. Somehow Talia always followed her own path. When she wasn't hiding behind some guise, Talia always managed despite her profound ability to ignore conventions not to be behind the styles of the day either. Talia simply made her own rules.

Still, Talia's gaze had been as constant as her disregard for court styles. When Beatrice's merry band of unlikely spies returned to the palace after a mission, Snow often found herself seeking a handsome lover to warm her bed as much because she could not bear the transition to sleeping alone after so many days of being under Talia's watchful eye as because she wanted the companionship and pure pleasure of sex.

Instead of thinking about the fact that upon her return from the last several missions Snow had opted not to seek a lover, she took a deep pull from the goblet of spiced wine in her hand. She closed her eyes and let the flavors play out on her tongue. She'd never been fond of this very Lorindarian drink, but over the years, its scents had become associated with the Midwinter in her mind, and while the taste itself wasn't to her liking, the connotations that the wine mixed with brandy, clove, ginger, and cinnamon had come to be pleasant enough. The overly-dressed wine meant that winter was beginning its long march towards an end that might be out of sight, but would eventually come.

The year turned. Midwinter marked a line. All year the sun moved in the sky, bringing them all a little closer to summer, but midwinter meant that soon light would begin returning, even if by only a few seconds at a time. Days would grow incrementally longer. The damp cold that settled into the seaside palace would begin its slow retreat tonight. Midwinter was a reminder every year that despite the fears the long, cold, dark nights conjured up in so many minds, with patience, Snow, like every other mortal, would get what she desired: warmth and light.

This year, for the first time, that thought—the inescapability of the march of time--did not fill her with happiness. If she knew a spell that could freeze time, she would consider using it. She wanted to hold on to this moment.

Strange how her own shortening of her lifespan—calling up her own life force to power needed spells or make bargains with elementals—had never made her consider the kind of manipulation that plenty of priests would call playing the divine. But the lives of those dear to her—the idea that they might be snuffed out or tapered off before their time—that was enough to make her challenge the very motions of the universe and its laws.

She supposed it made a certain kind of sense. It was the first Yule Ball since Beatrice fell ill. The kingdom may not yet know what had happened to the queen when stabbed by the mermaid's knife, but the inner circle certainly did. The merrymakers of the country either did not notice or had perfected denial, but Snow knew the royals well enough to see the fine lines of strain around Danielle's eyes. She could see how Armand's attention would drift away from the courtier he was speaking to and land on his mother's strained face. Only the very young prince had seemed unaffected much earlier in the evening as he'd sat with his parents through the early festivities. Now it was late enough that he'd been chivvied up to his royal bed, and the adult celebration was in full swing. But the ball's tenor was not its usual merry self. At least, not from where Snow sat. And she didn't think she was alone in that assessment.

Talia, who had made such progress in terms of toning down her prickly persona, had tonight resumed one of her oldest disguises: a servant. Snow amused herself briefly, tracking Talia's progress through the room and, more importantly, noting which of the notable persons in attendance treated a mere serving girl poorly or spilled important secrets so near the queen's best spy.

Truth be told, the fact that Snow was managing to watch Talia without being detected was worth note too. Among the skills the fairies had had a hand in was Talia's acute instinct for the eyes of another on her.

Snow paused, cocked her head to the side, and pondered that idea for a minute. The situation she found herself in wasn't all that different, really, to the times when she'd caught a glimpse of one of her mirrors in another one. Times like that, words got really confusing as she mediated on the endless image of one mirror reflecting in itself the image of a mirror in another and in another and—well, she supposed that was the very definition of infinity, now wasn't it?

When she closed her eyes, she did not see infinity. She saw only endings. Beatrice was dying, and nothing in the arsenals of Snow or the court healers could stop it. She could see that knowledge writ plainly on Danielle's face, even if those who knew the new princess less well could not. Talia's grace might still be there, but there was a hesitancy that had returned to her bearing that had begun to fade after years of stability here in this court. Snow knew it all too well; Talia was afraid of what her status would be after Beatrice's death. Few understood what it meant to be born to a position of privilege and power and then lose it all; such changes wrote deep lines upon the soul, and Snow suspected that she was one of the few who understood the effect that such reversals had had on Talia.

Snow drew another deep draught of her wine and closed her eyes. She felt the tears behind her lids and tried to will them away.

There would be time enough later for recriminations about how she'd responded to Morveren. There would be time enough later for so very many worries. Right now, it was midwinter, and her beloved Queen Beatrice was here. Snow should focus on that.

But she just couldn't force her mind to do her bidding.

She was sorely tempted to make the long passage down to her own lab—to spend this night reading and thinking about magical ways to extend Beatrice's life—to give the queen back what had been taken from her, but she had promised the queen that she would attend the party.

Across the room, Etienne was trying to catch her eye.

Two months ago she would have leapt at the chance. Etinenne, a count if she remembered correctly, was that rare combination of a lover who was as skilled as he was enthusiastic. He seemed to take as much satiation from bringing pleasures to other as in his own, and he had a joie de vive that assured he never took their dalliances too seriously.

Instead of meeting his eyes, she turned her gaze back to her goblet. She did not have that much light left in her tonight. She had done her duty and put on a pretty face for the world, including Beatrice. But she had none left over for others tonight.

If their years in this realm were as limited as the portents suggested, perhaps it past time that Snow give some thought to what she really wanted to do with those years. As she watched Talia's deft evasion of a merely mortal servant with a badly balanced serving tray, she thought that she, perhaps, had an answer after all.

Talia was the partner with whom she wanted to dance. Now she had only to figure out how to convince the prickly other princess that it was desire that motivated her and not pity, for Talia had about as much tolerance for pity as for ineptitude.

The wheel was turning. Snow let her gaze focus on the candlelight reflected in the mirror and drew a deep breath. Tomorrow the sun began its long climb back into the sky, and Snow had affairs of her own to arrange.

On the morrow, she would decide how to approach Talia, consequences be damned. No one could foretell—not even Beatrice—how much time they had left. There were many things that Snow did not know, but she knew what she wanted, and it was time to make some changes to who was watching whom. Their places in this court might never be stable, but those places would suffice. Snow had every intention of making them do so.


End file.
